Golden Age Tales
by WillowDryad
Summary: Chapter Five: Keepsake. Peter finds out there is nothing worse than a bored Edmund. Nothing. Rating may change based on individual stories. Golden Age. No slash.
1. A Nice Cup of Tea

**The suggested categories are:**

**a. an emotion**

**b. a color**

**c. an adjective**

**d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)**

**e. a Creature or Animal (****must**** be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).**

**From OldFashionedGirl95 I have: happiness, grey, lithe, fire and badger. Here's the story I made from them.**

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******Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

A NICE CUP OF TEA

The first thing Peter noticed was the fire. At least he noticed it on one side of himself. His front side was practically roasting. His backside, however, was nearly frozen. It was an odd feeling to have, to be sure, but not as odd as being not quite certain where one was or how one got there.

Apart from the fire, everything around him was dark and close, and he realized he was in a den or a warren of some sort, something dug into the ground and intended for someone a bit more compact than a long-legged boy of seventeen. There was a proper hearth and a few pieces of furniture, and he realized he was lying on his side on a bed of heather (it was rather nice) with his knees pulled up to his chest (that part wasn't so nice). He felt stiff and sore, his head ached and he desperately wanted to stretch his legs out. But when he tried to stretch, his feet crashed into something heavy that made a rattling noise which sounded suspiciously like teacups.

"Here now!"

He turned his head to see a wary old She-Badger peering down on him with pursed lips and little wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her long nose.

"All that's left of my grandmother's china is in that cupboard, young man, and I'd like to keep it whole."

Peter blinked at her. "S-sorry."

She put her paws on her wide hips. "And if you don't keep that door shut, I'll never be able to get the place warm."

He pushed himself up and saw that the door behind him, a lovely, sturdy little door painted green and fitted out with a shiny brass doorknob, was open to the winter night. No wonder his backside was freezing. He must have kicked it open (more than once?) when he was trying to get comfortable. Somehow, he managed to twist himself around and pull it shut.

"Thank you." The Badger adjusted her paisley shawl. "Now on to important matters. Do you like sugar or honey in your tea?"

"Honey, please, ma'am, if it's not any trouble."

She made a little huffing sound as she watched him struggle into a sitting position with his legs crossed under him. Even seated, he had to duck his head a bit.

"I don't know what in the world I'm going to do with you, you know." She waddled over to her stove, poured some tea into a minuscule little cup, added a generous dollop of honey and handed it to him. "Good thing you're finally awake. I couldn't possibly move you around on my own, and I'd like to get out of my front door someday, thank you very much."

Peter thanked her for the tea and then glanced back at the little door. "I beg your pardon, ma'am, but how did you get me in here in the first place?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, I can tell you." She poured herself a cup of tea and sat in a little overstuffed chair by the hearth. "It took Crofton and Mr. Reynard a good twenty minutes to get you stuffed through that door. I thought they'd skin the paint right off! And then it took another ten to get those long arms and legs of yours situated where they weren't knocking into everything in the blessed house!"

"Crofton and Reynard?"

"Crofton's a Dwarf. Mr. Reynard's a fox." The Badger chuckled. "You'd be hard pressed to say which of them was redder than the other. Crofton was all for leaving you out in the weather, mind you, but that would hardly be right, would it?"

Peter smiled a bit. "I shouldn't have liked it, I'm sure, ma'am."

"No, of course not. How's your head?"

He put one hand up to his right temple, prodding gingerly and then wincing when he touched a good-sized lump. "Doesn't hurt much. I'm sorry to have intruded on you."

"Nonsense." She took a sip of her tea and then picked up her knitting and started turning the heel on a soft-looking grey sock. "We're all neighbors together, aren't we? Though I don't remember any Sons of Adam living nearby."

"Forgive me, ma'am, but I'm not quite sure where I am, so I can't tell you whether I live nearby or not." He gave her a rather sheepish smile. "I'm still not sure what happened."

"Boys," she muttered, as if that were explanation enough, and didn't look up from her knitting. "Whether you were hunting or racing or running from something, I can't say, but you definitely fell from your horse and got quite a crack on the head. Mr. Reynard says the beast must have run off eastward by the tracks it left. He didn't see anyone else about. Isn't anyone missing of you by now?"

Racing. That was it. He and Edmund had been coming back from a visit with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, and with night coming on, they'd squabbled over the quickest route back to Cair Paravel. They'd agreed to each take his own way and see who made it back home first. Obviously, it wasn't going to be Peter.

"I suppose my brother will be looking for me in time, but it may be a while before he realizes I'm gone. We were racing home and–"

"I see." Again the Badger pursed her lips. "And your mother will be that worried."

Peter shook his head. "But I have a sister who worries enough for three mums and an auntie."

"A brother and a sister, too. Lovely."

"Two sisters, actually, ma'am, but the younger one doesn't spend much time worrying, I don't think."

"Two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve. Sounds like our Kings and Queens, Aslan bless 'em and send 'em happiness." The Badger smiled fondly at him, knitting needles still for once. "Come to think of it, you do put me some in mind of our High King, tall and lithe-limbed as he is. Perhaps it's the look of all Sons of Adam. I've not seen many, mind, and only saw His Majesty once back when he was crowned. I could imagine him grown into such a lad as you by now, but you'd have to go some to match the look of him. All golden and magnificent he was. I'll never forget if I live to be a hundred."

Peter smoothed down his tawny hair, again a touch of a sheepish grin on his face. "No, ma'am. But not everyone can be the High King."

"Don't you worry, young man." She reached over to pat his cheek. "You're a pleasant-looking boy in your own way. And I'm sure that knock on the head and lying in the snow for an hour or two did nothing to improve your looks."

Peter suppressed a chuckle. "No, ma'am."

"Now what about some more tea?" She peered over at his empty cup. "I suppose that wasn't more than a swallow or two for a great lad like you."

"Thank you, ma'am. That would be most kind."

She set down her knitting and took his cup. Before she could reach the teapot again, there came a thunderous pounding on the little green door.

"Hullo? Anyone home?"

"Ed!"

Peter flung open the door to see Edmund on hands and knees on the little doorstep outside, his dark eyes equal parts relief and reproof.

"What do you think you're doing disappearing like that? Good thing I found your horse and tracked you back to where you fell. A Fox told me where they'd taken you."

Peter grinned. "Sorry about that. Ummm, I'd tell you to come in except I don't think we'd both fit. Besides, the lady of the house mightn't approve."

"So this is your brother, eh?" The Badger waddled over to the door, looking Edmund up and down. "Doesn't eat enough."

Edmund's mouth dropped open. "Why does everybody say that?"

"Excuse my brother, ma'am," Peter said to the Badger. "He's not used to civilized company."

Edmund scowled at him. "Peter."

"Edmund." Peter scowled back and then grinned. "I hope you brought my horse back with you. I think it's time I got out of the way here. And Susan's going to scold enough as it is."

By this time, the Badger was staring at both boys, eyes wide, paws over her mouth.

"Peter? Edmund? Susan? Oh, dear. I suppose your younger sister is Lucy."

Peter nodded, giving her an apologetic half-smile.

The white patches in her cheeks turned a deep shade of rose as she curtseyed. "Your Majesties. Oh, I do beg your pardon, King Peter. King Edmund. Oh, what I said!"

Peter took one of her paws and pressed the back of it with a courtly kiss. "You've been more than kind, ma'am. Beggar or king, I couldn't have asked better, especially since you had no way of knowing which I was."

Soon, after they had both had a fresh cup of tea (Edmund stayed out on the doorstep), the two Kings made their farewells, and the still-blushing Badger stood in her little warm doorway waving to them until the dark forest swallowed them up.

The next day, Peter sent one of his Tigers back to the Badger's house with a package and a note. The yarn, in an array of bright colors, was from Susan. The jar of honey was from Lucy, and Edmund sent a variety of fine teas. But Peter sent her one of Cair Paravel's best tea sets, "for the next time I drop in."

**Author's Note: Anyone who is interested is welcome to leave me a review with a list of words based on the above categories. I can't guarantee I'll write stories for all of the suggestions I get, but I might. :)**

– **WD**


	2. The Frog Princess

**The suggested categories are:**

**a. an emotion**

**b. a color**

**c. an adjective**

**d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)**

**e. a Creature or Animal (must be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).**

**From Rayven49 I have: exhaustion, green, content, water and frog. Here's the story I made from them.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

THE FROG PRINCESS

Peter had journeyed from Cair Paravel to the River Shribble, above where the icy castle of the White Witch once stood, to settle a longstanding dispute between some Naiads and the Marshwiggles. Neither party had been completely happy with his ruling on the issue, but as Edmund always said, that most likely meant that he had ruled fairly, and now he was happy to be heading home again. He had taken only his personal guard and a few of his soldiers with him, hoping a small party would make the journey easier and quicker, and it had proven so.

But he was tired of travel, tired of riding, tired of seeing the same few Centaurs and Fauns and Beasts and not his brother and sisters. This, he was happy to note, would be their last night before reaching home, and as it drew towards dusk, he called a halt.

"We'll camp here. This clearing is well grassed for those who prefer to graze, and there is a pond beyond the trees for drinking and bathing." He turned the Eagle who had accompanied them. "Will you hunt for us, good Greywing?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The Eagle shot into the sky, and Peter turned to his soldiers. "The rest of you set up camp. I'll gather some wood for the fire and–"

"Please, My King." Bast, one of the twin Tigers of his personal guard, nudged his hand with her broad nose. "You look very weary. Will you not rest and let us see to things?"

"But I ought to–"

"You ought to rest," her brother Babur said, baring his gleaming teeth in what was equal parts threat and grin. "We insist, Your Majesty."

Peter smiled gratefully. "I would like to freshen up a bit at that. I'll just leave the two of you to see to things here, shall I?"

The two Tigers gave him their perfectly synchronized bows, and Peter made his way through to the still little pond that lay beyond the trees. With a sigh, he lowered himself into the lush grass, realizing all at once the true depth of his exhaustion. The sun was sinking, and the trees threw long, cool shadows over him, and he surprised himself with an enormous yawn. Maybe he would let the others do the work for just this once. He'd just wash some of the grime from his face and hands, and then perhaps he'd take a bit of a nap until supper was ready.

He rolled his shoulders, loosening the kinks, and then stretched his arms over his head. Then he leaned over the smooth, clear water and scooped up a handful. It was cold and delicious to drink, and he sated himself with it. Then he splashed his face and neck, feeling a bit more awake now and considerably fresher. Just as he began tugging at the lacings on his shirt, ready to wash in earnest, he heard a sweet voice beside him.

"Good evening, Your Majesty."

He blinked and looked around him. There was no one there.

"Are you not High King Peter?" the voice asked, and he finally looked down.

There on a dark rock at the edge of the pond sat the most beautiful frog he had ever seen. She, for judging by the voice, she was certainly female, was very small, perhaps two inches long, and of the purest gleaming emerald green. Her eyes, large and golden, blinked at him solemnly.

"I am." He bowed slightly. "Good evening."

"Please, Your Majesty," she said in her mellifluous voice, "will you help me?"

"If I am able, good Cousin. What is it you would ask?"

"My name is Ianthe, Sire. I am a princess among my people. I was always accounted as beautiful, and that, I suppose, brought with it envy and enmity. A sorceress, vain and jealous, has laid upon me a curse. In daylight hours, I am a Frog. When night comes, I am a woman. It would have been kinder had she condemned me to be forever live as what I am not rather than allowing me a few hours of beauty before again turning into sheer hideousness."

Peter nodded as she spoke. For, though he thought her a most lovely Frog, he could imagine that was rather small consolation when one had been accustomed to being a beautiful princess.

"What must be done to break the spell, Princess Ianthe?"

She blinked her golden eyes and then looked demurely away. "An easy thing, Sire, if you will grant it."

"Yes?"

"There is but one way to free me from this curse." She looked up at him once more. "I must have just one kiss from the High King."

Peter smiled, blushing faintly. The request was simple enough, and if he could break this spell so easily, he could hardly refuse her. He opened his mouth to tell her he would comply, but then he shut it again.

What manner of magic was involved here? Was it so simple a thing as he had at first thought? Or was there something more sinister at work? Perhaps rather than freeing her, this kiss would ensnare him. He most certainly didn't want to end up being a Frog himself. Edmund would never let him hear the end of it!

"I– I'm not certain, Your Highness, whether I should–"

"Oh, please! Please, Sire!"

She looked up, and he followed her gaze. The sun was just sinking behind the western mountains, and she turned back to him, golden eyes wide and frantic.

"Please, King Peter! You must! Before–"

She gasped and there was a puff of smoke. Then, in place of the tiny frog, there on the rock sat the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair fell in lush golden waves around her milk-white shoulders. She was clad in emerald green silk that clung to her slender body, modest and yet alluring, and her dainty bare feet peeped out from beneath it. Her graceful hands reached out to him in appeal as she opened her pink lips to speak, but instead of the mellifluous voice, all that came out was a loud croak.

He gasped, eyes wide, and she immediately covered her mouth with both hands, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Princess Ianthe?"

She nodded, her golden eyes filling with tears.

"I– I'm so sorry," he murmured.

Even the Gentle Queen herself, renowned for beauty throughout Narnia and all the lands, was not so beautiful as this. Little wonder she took no pleasure in spending her days as a Frog. And even her beauty now was marred with the loss of her glorious voice. It was not to be borne. As King and Knight of Narnia, he couldn't allow it.

She reached her hands out to him in a wordless plea, and he clasped them tightly.

"By the Lion, Fair One, of course I will do as you ask and break the spell."

She fell to her knees before him, bathing his hands with grateful kisses and tears, and he drew her to her feet.

"Only one kiss?" he asked again, and she nodded hopefully.

"Then, dear Princess, in Aslan's name . . . "

He leaned down to her, and she closed her eyes, rosy lips turned up to his. He felt a spark of magic as their lips touched and, again, there was a puff of smoke.

She was gone.

"Princess?" He looked around the clearing, dazed. "Princess Ianthe?"

"Oh, thank you! Aslan's blessings upon you, dear King Peter, for what you have done!"

He looked down at his feet. There, still on the rock, sat the tiny Frog, her golden eyes shining.

"But, Princess, you're– you're a–"

"I'm a Frog! Thank the Lion, I'm a Frog again, even though it is night. I'm only sorry, dear High King, that you were compelled to kiss me when I was in such a hideous state."

"But you–"

"I mean no offense to Your High Majesty. You who were created to look so are, of course, lovely after your own fashion. But just as it would be unnatural for you to have the appearance of one of my people, so it is for me to have the appearance of one of yours. I am, as we all should be, content to be as Aslan has made me."

He smiled and gave her his most courtly bow. "You are as wise as you are fair, Dear Princess."

"Ianthe?"

Her eyes lit at this new voice, a voice low, soft and loverlike.

"Amyntas!"

She hopped over to the edge of the pond. There sat another Frog, slightly larger, gazing at her with adoration.

"You are free," he said in wonder. "At last, the spell is broken."

"It was the High King," she told him. "He's been most kind."

The He-Frog made a slight bow. "Your Majesty, we are most honored."

Peter bowed in return. "The honor is mine, good Cousin. May I be so bold as to ask when the wedding will be?"

He was certain, though he couldn't say just how, that the Princess blushed.

"Very soon, Sire," the He-Frog said, "now that the curse has been overthrown. And we would be most honored to have Your Majesty attend."

They made their farewells and hopped away together. Peter watched after them for a long moment and then rubbed his eyes. He was still exhausted and longing for home, but somehow he, too, was content.

**Author's Note: Anyone who is interested is welcome to leave me a review with a list of words based on the above categories. I can't guarantee I'll write stories for all of the suggestions I get, but I might. :)**

– **WD**


	3. Weathering the Storm

**The suggested categories are:**

**a. an emotion**

**b. a color**

**c. an adjective**

**d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)**

**e. a Creature or Animal (****must**** be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).**

**From Ashleigh M, I have fear, red, worried, earth, and Centaur. Here's the story I made from them.**

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

WEATHERING THE STORM

The last few days had been . . . difficult, to say the least. Susan and Lucy had been in Archenland for a week already, visiting King Lune and his family, and they weren't due back for several days more. Peter and Edmund both had looked forward to spending some time on their own, "just the men," together, but Edmund had caught cold and spent the first few days of the girls' absence confined to his bed. He wasn't that good at bed rest even at the best of times. Without Susan to mother him and Lucy to entertain him, he had become increasingly petulant and whiny.

Peter had spent what time he could with him, but he had his hands full trying to see to his own duties along with the most urgent of Susan's and Lucy's and Edmund's. He often worked late into the night, and when he finally did leave his study, he frequently found Edmund curled up in a blanket in front of his door, sound asleep, waiting on him. And, always with an indulgent smile, he'd scoop Edmund up, blanket and all, and carry him to his bed. And sometimes, if he was exceptionally tired, Peter would climb under the covers next to him, oblivious to everything until the sun woke them both the next morning.

Tonight was different. Maybe it was because Peter didn't know what he was going to do, short of an outright threat of war, to silence the increasingly acrimonious insinuations from Calormen that the Lone Islands were rightly theirs. Or maybe it was because he didn't know, without making mention of her empty-headedness and no doubt causing irreparable offense thereby, how to graciously respond to the Archenlandish Duke's observations that his daughter would make a fine Queen of Narnia when she and Peter both turned sixteen in the coming summer. Maybe it was just the constant and endless tugging of responsibility from every side. Whatever it was, Peter was feeling exceptionally tired and snappish. The storm wasn't helping.

He didn't mind the thunder and lightning himself. In fact, he rather enjoyed how cosy it made the Cair feel, but he knew his brother and sisters were often frightened by it, and it always made him worry for them. Edmund, despite his bravery in battle, despite being far older than his years in judgement and intelligence, was the worst of them, and Peter wasn't surprised when he heard a hesitant knock at his study door. He wasn't surprised, but he wasn't particularly happy about it either. The stack of correspondence he'd been told was urgent seemed to grow rather than shrink the more he worked at it, and the ache in his head seemed to increase with the lateness of the hour.

He rubbed his eyes. "Come in, Edmund."

He saw the tousled black hair first and then the big dark eyes peeked hesitantly around the door. "Are you– Aren't you going to sleep tonight, Peter?"

With a sigh, Peter looked back at the letter at the top of the stack. How many ambassadors _should_ he send to treat with Telmar and who ought they to be?

"In a little while, Ed. You should go on to bed."

Edmund caught his breath and looked up as the lightning flashed and a boom of thunder followed on its heels. Then he came into the room, dragging his blanket behind him.

"It's pretty late," he said, trying to look unconcerned and failing miserably. "Can't you do that tomorrow?"

Peter frowned. "By tomorrow this stack will be twice as high. You know how it is. Go on now. I'll see you in the morning."

"Couldn't I just . . . " Chewing his lower lip, Edmund looked out at the pitchy sky. "Couldn't I just stay in here till you're done?"

Again came the thunder and lightning, and he scurried to Peter's side of the desk, his eyes impossibly bigger than before. Peter scowled at him, not surprised to see that, once again, he was wearing nothing but his thin nightshirt and his feet were bare.

"What have I told you about keeping warm, Ed? You're just getting over a cold. Do you want to have to stay in bed for another week? Susan will kill us both if you get pneumonia."

Edmund ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Peter. I just–"

Once more the storm crashed, and he clutched at Peter's arm, overturning the inkwell and sloshing ink all over the papers Peter had labored over since early morning.

Peter sprang to his feet. "Edmund!"

Edmund shrank back from him. "I'm– I'm sorry. I didn't–"

"I've been all day on those!"

"I didn't mean to." Edmund tried to blot the ink with his bare hands, making more of a mess than before. "I was just– The storm–"

He flinched at another boom and crash, clenching his fists and looking pleadingly at Peter. Peter only pressed his lips into a hard line.

"It's just a storm, Edmund. It's not going to _get _you. What are you? Twelve or two?"

Edmund's lower lip quivered, and he swallowed hard, fighting the tears that filled his eyes. Without another word, he bolted from the room.

"Oh, splendid." Peter sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. "Well done, Peter. Well done, indeed."

After a moment, he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. Then he tidied up what he could of the mess on his desk, relieved to see it wasn't as bad as he had at first thought. A rather sternly worded notice to Ettinsmoor, warning them to respect Narnia's northern border or expect consequences, was the only thing that was really spoilt. He hoped to find he had done as little damage to his brother.

"Good evening, Melville," Peter said softly as the Bear on duty at Edmund's door gave a lumbering bow.

"King Peter."

"Is my brother in his room?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The Bear looked at him hopefully, eager as always to please. "Shall I fetch him out?"

"No, no. That's all right, thank you. I'll just go in." Peter tapped at the door. "Ed?"

He waited, smiling faintly at the Bear, and then knocked again.

"Edmund? Come on, Ed. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

He waited another long moment and then pushed open the door.

The room was empty.

OOOOO

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the forest, accompanied by a rattling crash of thunder. There was no delay between the two, so Peter knew the lightning was nearby. Where was he? Where was Edmund?

As soon as he realized Edmund wasn't in his room, Peter had alerted the guard. Bears were strong and fierce but not really all that clever. Poor Melville didn't stand a chance against Edmund if Edmund really wanted to get past him.

When a search of the Cair turned up nothing, he had been forced to send for Oreius. The Centaur general had mustered his soldiers, sending them out to search the surrounding woods and fields and the beach. It was miserable work in this weather. The night was so dark, it was quite likely that, if Edmund didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. Peter was certain he wouldn't want to be found.

Over Oreius's objections, Peter insisted on searching by himself. Yes, he wanted the rest of the soldiers searching, too. He wanted Edmund to be found as quickly as possible. But if he found Edmund first, he wanted to talk to him without anyone else being around. There were things he needed to say, and those things were just between him and his brother.

Already soaked to the skin, he trudged deeper into the dark forest, his little covered lantern barely lighting one step at a time.

"Edmund! Edmund, can you hear me?"

Peter's voice was already ragged with shouting, and he swallowed down a frustrated sob.

"Aslan, please. Help me find him. Please." He held up his lantern, straining to see in the blackness. "Edmund! I'm sorry!"

Another flash of lightning lit up the trees, and there not fifty feet ahead of him, he caught sight of something red up in the swaying top branches of a towering oak. Edmund's heavy cloak was red.

"Edmund!" Peter sprinted to the foot of the tree, relief flooding through him. "Edmund! Come down! Please! I didn't mean it!"

Small and bedraggled, Edmund only clung to the tree, not lifting his hooded head. Peter set the lantern down in the wet grass, and hoisted himself into the tree's lower branches.

"Come on, Ed!" Peter called up to him as he climbed higher. "Come down!"

Edmund only turned his face away and huddled closer to the tree. Peter struggled to get up to where he was, afraid he might move wrong in the darkness and fall, afraid Edmund might lose his hold before he could get up to him. He didn't look down, and he was certain he didn't want to know just how high up they were. He just had to get to his brother and get him home.

Finally he got to the branch where Edmund sat. First he simply reached up to tug at his brother's ankle.

"Come on, Ed," he said gently. "You don't need to be out in this weather."

Edmund merely pulled away from him, pulled both legs up under himself and out of Peter's reach. Peter sighed and climbed up to sit next to him.

"Come on down, Edmund. Let's go home."

He tried to put one arm around Edmund's shoulders, but Edmund only wrenched away from him, nearly losing his balance as he did.

"_You_ go home." He glared at Peter from under his cloak. "I'm fine where I am."

"Come on, Ed," Peter pled. "Please come home. I didn't mean what I said back there. Really."

"Sure you did. It's true. It's just a storm. Why should I be a great baby about it? Why should I be the biggest coward in all Narnia every time it rains?"

"Oh, Eddie." Peter put both arms around him this time, and this time Edmund couldn't escape. "Don't think that. I think you're the bravest person I know."

Another flash of lightning showed him dark eyes full of fear, and once the thunder had rolled into nothingness, he heard Edmund's derisive laugh.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Sure. Look at you. I know you're afraid of storms, but you came out here anyway to face it."

Edmund sniffled and wiped his nose. "If I was brave, I wouldn't be afraid at all."

"If you weren't afraid, then this wouldn't be brave."

Edmund was silent a long while.

"But really, Peter, it _is_ just a storm. I know that. Why can't I–"

Peter held him a little bit tighter. "Irrational fears are . . . irrational. It doesn't matter if they make sense. They just are what they are. Who knows? Maybe someday you'll learn to enjoy storms. I think they're rather exciting."

Again, Edmund sniffled and looked at him dubiously, and then he moved a little closer.

"Besides," Peter added. "I don't know how irrational it is to be scared when you're sitting up in one of the tallest trees in the forest in the middle of a lightning storm."

He grinned, and when the storm crashed again, Edmund huddled against him.

"I'm sorry I ruined your papers, Peter," he murmured, a little catch in his voice.

"They're not ruined. Well, one is, but it was just a letter to the Ettin Giants, and most of them can't read anyway."

Edmund snickered and then flung his arms around Peter's neck, sobbing in earnest now. Peter merely held him there, shushing him, until he heard a familiar voice from down below.

"Your Majesties? King Peter?"

"Oreius! We're coming!" Peter smiled at his brother. "Come on, Eddie. We have to get home and dry before we're both sick."

He tried to take Edmund's arms from around him, but at the next boom of thunder, Edmund only held on tighter.

"Please don't, Peter. Don't."

Peter finally had to carry him down, bracing himself every time lightning ripped the sky, waiting until Edmund calmed before he moved to a lower branch. Finally, his boots sunk into the wet black earth of the forest floor.

"Are you all right, Your Majesties?" The Centaur looked at Peter with worried eyes. "King Edmund?"

"He's all right," Peter assured him. "Come on, Ed. We're on the ground now."

Again he tried to take Edmund's arms from around him. Again Edmund only held more tightly.

"Please, Peter."

Peter smiled apologetically at Oreius. "Will you dismiss the men? I'll get him home."

Oreius signaled the Faun who was with him, and the Faun disappeared into the darkness.

"My lieutenant will see to the men. You are tired, My King. Let me carry King Edmund."

Peter nodded gratefully and tried to shift his brother into the Centaur's outstretched arms, but Edmund still would not release him. Finally Peter could only shake his head.

"Thank you, Oreius, but I can carry him."

It seemed a much longer walk out of the forest than into it. The rain still lashed at them, and Peter could hardly remember what it felt like to be dry, but at least the thunder and lightning seemed to have stopped for the moment. Before they were halfway back to the Cair, Peter realized he was wobbling as he walked. The second time he stumbled, Oreius stopped him.

"You are tired, Majesty."

"I'm all right." Peter squinted into the darkness, just able to make out the lights from Cair Paravel. "It's not that much farther, is it?"

"At least let me carry–"

"I don't want to put him down." Peter shifted Edmund a little, getting a better hold on him. "We'll be all right."

"No need to put him down, My King."

Before Peter could protest, the Centaur lifted him and Edmund both into his arms and carried them home.

**Author's Note: Anyone who is interested is welcome to leave me a review with a list of words based on the above categories. I can't guarantee I'll write stories for all of the suggestions I get, but I might. :)**

– **WD**


	4. The Keep

**The suggested categories are:**

**a. an emotion**

**b. a color**

**c. an adjective**

**d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)**

**e. a Creature or Animal (****must**** be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).**

**From OldFashionedGirl95 I have: fear, white, broken, earth and Horse. Here's the story I made from them.**

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

**Warning: Major character defenestration.**

THE KEEP

Bearclaw Firth was about four miles up the coast, due north of Cair Paravel. Since the coronation, Peter had often looked from his balcony towards it, watching the sun glint off the water and off the abandoned Keep that stood at its near side. There was something about that Keep that interested him. Not anything magical or mysterious really. It was just abandoned and melancholy, and he thought it might make a nice place to explore one day. He didn't know it would be over a year before he got the chance. Who knew being King would keep him so very busy? He spent so much time learning to be a man and a King, he usually forgot to just be a boy.

"Come on, Ed." He slowed his unicorn and turned around to see what was keeping his brother this time. "Or would you rather have stayed back at the Cair and have Susan teach you embroidery along with Lucy?"

"No!" Edmund scrunched up his nose in distaste and then laughed. "Not that Lu didn't want to come along with us, too."

Peter grinned. "Well, Susan can try all she wants, but I have a feeling she'll never quite make Lucy into a proper young lady. Now come on. If you don't hurry up, by the time we get there, we'll just have to turn around and come right back again."

Edmund scowled. "Tell him that."

Peter looked at his brother's Horse. "What is it this time, Phillip?"

Phillip exhaled noisily. "You two finally have a break from your duties, but do you stay at home where it's warm and dry? No. No, even on a miserable, drizzly day like this, you have to go tearing up the coast to look at an old tower that hasn't been lived in for a hundred years. Why?"

Peter laughed. "I told you. Because it's there. And it's not raining anymore."

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to," Edmund added. "I could have ridden another horse."

As expected, that put a stop to Phillip's objections. Instead, he picked up his pace, and before long they were standing at the base of the Keep. It was made of weathered grey stone, about forty-five feet tall and perfectly square. Not ruined, not exactly, but certainly in disrepair. Peter smiled as he looked up at it. He had always loved heights and exploring things. Mum said that when he was a toddler he was never any trouble except for his terrifying tendency to try to climb everything he saw. He didn't know what it was, but there was something glorious and freeing about standing above the world, seeing for miles and miles around, close to the sky, close to Aslan.

He gave his unicorn a swat on the rump, and the beast ambled down the hill a few yards and started snuffling at the lush spring grass growing there. Edmund was busy unsaddling Phillip, and Peter made quick work of his bridle.

"Have a nice roll in the grass," Edmund told the Horse as he pulled off the saddle and tossed it on the ground. "And don't wander too far."

Phillip snorted and trotted off, muttering something to himself, and Edmund frowned.

"I do _not_ sound like Susan!"

Phillip merely snickered and, kicking up his heels, went to join the unicorn.

Peter flung the bridle on top of the saddle and turned towards the Keep. "What do you reckon's in there, Ed? Treasure?"

Edmund slung the pouch with their lunch in it over his shoulder and looked up at the imposing place. "Dunno. Probably nothing by now. After a hundred years? Whatever was in there is likely long gone."

"Won't know until we look," Peter replied, and he walked through the dark, empty doorway.

The wan sun left a pale rectangle of light on the dirty flagstones, but it wasn't enough to brighten the room that covered the entire ground floor. There were still torches in the holders on either side of the opening, though, and Peter took the flint and steel from the pouch at his belt. Soon he and Edmund each had a light.

Peter held up his torch, still unable to tell how far above them the ceiling was. There was a fluttering in the darkness over his head, and then he heard a small voice.

"Who's there?"

Peter shifted his torch to his left hand and put his right on Rhindon 's hilt. "Peter, the High King."

"Who are you?" Edmund demanded, moving closer to his brother as he, too, clutched his sword.

Suddenly there were dozens and dozens of the little voices along with more fluttering and flapping. "The High King! The High King!"

Peter and Edmund looked at each other, bewildered, until a tiny Bat swooped into view and landed on one of the empty torch holders.

"I am Orfeo. We are honored, Your Majesty. And may we assume this is the King Edmund?"

"Our royal brother, good cousin," Peter said, smiling. "We are sorry to have disturbed all of you."

"It is nothing, Your Majesty," the Bat replied, his small voice thick with sleep. "Is there something you seek from us?"

Peter felt his face turn warm. "I– We just wanted to see what's here. Is that all right?"

Orfeo bowed his tiny head. "You are both most welcome, My King. Would you care to have one of my people as a guide?"

"I thank you, but no need to trouble yourselves. Anything we ought to be careful of?" Peter asked.

"I think not, Sire," said the Bat, "but you might keep sharp watch if you go above. It is no hindrance to us, but some of the stones have begun to crumble. The wood of the floors is old and hasn't been looked to since before the Great Winter. Some of it may not be sturdy enough now to hold a Son of Adam." Orfeo glanced at Edmund. "Even a small one."

Peter concealed a grin at his brother's scowl. "We will be careful, good cousin, and we thank you. I pray you, all of you, return to your rest. We will do our best to not disturb you further."

Surrounded by a shrill chorus of goodbyes and a few "Lion's blessings upon Your Majesties," the boys made their way across the huge hall towards the yawning blackness of another doorway.

Peter peered into it, his torch lighting only the first few steps of the stone stairs that went down into the darkness. "If there's a secret treasure chamber, it'll be down there, don't you think?"

Behind him, Edmund was silent for a moment. "And the dungeons."

"And who knows what else?" Peter felt his heart beat a little faster, imagining chests of gold and jewels and old armor and maybe even a grinning skeleton still in century-old shackles. "Come on."

He was four or five steps down when he realized his brother wasn't following him.

"Well, come on, Ed."

Peter's turned and looked up into the dimness, and his smile faded. Edmund's face was pale and pinched looking in the flickering light of his torch.

"Peter, I don't– I don't want to go down there. To the dungeons." He licked his trembling lips. "I'll just wait for you."

Peter gave him a gentle smile. "Sorry, Ed. I didn't think."

He knew, even though it had been a year, that his little brother still sometimes had nightmares about being imprisoned by the White Witch. He could hardly blame Edmund for not wanting to be reminded of it now.

"Um, would it bother you if I just popped down for a quick look? I mean, just in case there _is_ something down there?"

Edmund forced a tight smile. "Go ahead. Just don't get yourself into trouble."

With a grin, Peter scampered down the stairs. Just as quickly, he scampered back up again.

"What's down there?" Edmund asked, clearly surprised to see him back so soon.

"I dunno besides three feet of water. So much for a treasure chamber."

Edmund laughed, all the tenseness in his face suddenly gone. "I guess we'll have to go up then."

"Right."

Peter beamed at him and led the way to a door set in the corner of the great hall. As he suspected, behind the door was a narrow spiral stairway, the stone steps wide on the left side and narrowing to nothing on the right. He remembered reading once that they were purposely built that way so that the defender such a place coming down the steps would have more room to swing his sword than an invader coming up. Woe betide such a defender if he happened to be left handed, and even more woe if his opponent was as well.

They went up several steps and then opened the first doorway they came to. As it was below, the first floor was one large, empty room. There were a few more windows here, so Peter could see fairly well. Clearly whatever had been here had been taken away over the Great Winter. He stepped tentatively on the wooden floor, remembering the Bat's warning, but it felt sound. Even when he jumped on it, holding onto the door, it didn't budge.

"I guess it's safe enough, Ed. Come on."

They walked around the empty room and looked out the windows.

"Can't see much from this floor," Edmund said, looking towards Cair Paravel, and Peter nodded towards the stairway.

"Let's go up."

The second floor was just as bleak and empty and so was the third except for some sort of tall wooden folding screen and a ratty old bedstead in one corner. Except for the Bats, this wasn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as Peter had imagined.

He sighed. "Well, at least we know the place is mostly still in good shape. It could use some work, but it could be habitable again if someone wanted to live here. Maybe Oreius would have some military use for it."

Edmund turned from the window where he had been exchanging friendly gibes with Phillip down below and smiled. "I can see the Cair now. Lucy was waving to me from your balcony."

Peter chuckled. "Liar. It's four miles away. You cannot see her from here."

"She was either waving or calling for us to rescue her from Susan and embroidery lessons."

"Now _that_ I believe. Come on. We're almost to the top."

They put their torches in the holders on that floor and climbed the last of the stairs. Soon they were standing in the wan sunshine.

"It still hasn't cleared up," Peter said, hurrying to look over the edge.

There were arrow loops in the wall that ran around the top of the Keep, but the wall was about three feet thick and it wasn't crenellated, so it was hard to see very much. Peter finally climbed up on top of it, drawing a deep, satisfied breath as he looked down on the fields, the forest, the sea, all the world. All Narnia seemed touched with that soft golden glow that came after a rain.

Edmund stood tiptoe, trying to see through an arrow loop, too. Then he made a little huffing noise. "No fair."

Peter grinned at him and offered him a hand. "Come on."

He hauled Edmund up onto the wide wall beside him, and they both sat silently for a moment, their booted feet dangling free over the side.

"That's one thing I asked her, you know, that I still wish she'd done."

Peter looked at his brother, brows knit together. "One thing you asked who?"

"Jadis. When I first met her in Lantern Waste. She poured something out of this little bottle, and it turned into something hot to drink. She said she could make anything I liked, and I asked her if she could make me taller."

Peter laughed. "You don't need magic for that, silly. Just some more time."

Edmund sighed and leaned his chin on his hand. "Even the Bats think I'm little."

"It won't be for forever."

"But what if it is? What if I never get to be tall?"

Peter put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "That's not very likely, is it? Dad's tall. Mum's pretty tall. For a lady, I mean. Even Susan's tall. Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'll never be as tall as you," Edmund grumbled.

"Maybe not." Peter thought for a moment. "Maybe you'll be taller."

Edmund only scoffed.

"I can tell you for certain, though," Peter said, "neither of us will get any taller if we don't eat."

Edmund grinned and opened the pouch with their lunch in it. They each had two sandwiches of thickly sliced roast beef on hearty brown bread with just the right amount of mustard. And Susan had slipped in a few cherry tarts for them as well. There was nothing like adventuring to bring on the appetite.

Once they were done, Peter stretched himself out on his back right there on the top of the wall and looked up at the still-cloudy sky. The sun told him it was mid-afternoon.

"I suppose we'll have to be heading back soon. Sorry there wasn't really much to see."

Edmund only looked out over the forest and smiled a little shyly. "I'm glad we came. Just you and me."

Peter closed his eyes, smiling, too. "So am I, Ed."

Despite what he had just said, Peter felt in no hurry to leave. The brothers stayed where they were for nearly an hour, thinking, dozing, rarely speaking. Finally Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"All right, we really have to go now. If we don't get home before dark, Susan will likely send someone after us. And if she doesn't, Oreius will."

He stood up on the wall, heart swelling with love and pride as he took one last longing look at the kingdom stretched out below him, as he looked towards the south where Cair Paravel stood shining on the edge of the Eastern Sea. Edmund stood up next to him, that same love and pride gleaming in his dark eyes, and then he turned to Peter.

"Couldn't we sleep here tonight and go home in the morning?"

Peter couldn't say he wasn't tempted, but he shook his head. "We have to get back to work tomorrow, Ed. No more days off. Besides, if we don't come back, everyone will start worrying about us. And, anyway, we don't have any more food."

Edmund settled the pouch back on his shoulder with a smug little grin. "Who says?"

"What? What else did Susan pack for us?"

"Nothing." Edmund shrugged negligently. "Just some of her apple cake."

"You have apple cake?" Peter pretended to look fierce. "You have apple cake, and you didn't tell me?"

Again Edmund shrugged. "You didn't need to know about it since I'm going to eat it all myself."

Peter tried to grab him, but Edmund only giggled and pattered away, holding out his arms for balance. Peter followed after him, making dire threats that only made Edmund giggle more. Finally he reached the corner of the tower, grinning as he glanced back to see if Peter was still after him.

"You can't catch–"

His eyes widened as one of the stones crumbled under his foot, and then, arms flailing, he toppled over the side.

"Ed!"

Peter lunged for him, falling hard on the top of the wall as his fingers brushed his brother's tunic but caught nothing. He scrambled to his knees, looking down what was now a sickening distance to the ground, but he saw nothing but the lush grass and a some brush that had tumbled against the base of the Keep. Edmund wasn't there.

"Edmund! Edmund!"

Chest heaving, Peter shoved himself off the wall and back onto the roof of the Keep. He bolted to the stairway, grabbed one of the torches they had left on the third floor and began the interminable round of narrow steps down and down and down, scraping his hands on the stone walls to catch himself when he stumbled.

_Edmund. Edmund. Please be alive. Don't die. I'm coming. Don't die. Aslan, don't let him die._

He stumbled again as he passed the door to the second floor and his torch flew out of his hand, rolling down the stairs ahead of him, flaring and sputtering until it finally lay half on and half off one of the steps. Peter merely scooped it up and raced on, down and down in endless rounds.

_Where could he be? How could he not be down there? Aslan, please. I can't lose him. Not again. I can't. Susan will kill me. She said we'd likely fall and break our necks. She'll kill me. Please, Edmund, Eddie, don't be dead. I can't lose you. I can't. I can't. I can't._

His legs began to tremble and his heaving lungs to burn as he forced himself to keep moving, down and down, past the door to the first floor, heading towards the ground floor at last. No sound but the slap of his boots on stone and the sobbing gasp of his breath.

_Aslan, please. Please, please, please. I can't. I can't. I can't._

He burst through the ground floor door and dashed across the flagstones, tossing his torch aside as he reached the opening that led outside, again startling the Bats out of their sleep, making them rustle and mutter above his head.

"I'm coming! Eddie, I'm coming!"

He sprinted out into the sunlight, blinking, half dazed, wondering which way to turn. He had to check the brush where Edmund fell. Perhaps he had–

Peter ran around to the back of the Keep, still with the words running in his head. _Aslan, please. Don't be dead, Eddie. Please, Aslan. I can't. I can't. Don't be dead._

As he feared, there was no sign of Edmund at the base of the Keep. No sign of him anywhere.

"Edmund!" Peter screamed. "Edmund!"

"King Peter! Over here!"

Peter spun at the sound of Phillip's voice and bolted down to the bottom of the hillside where the Horse and the unicorn were standing. Somehow, by some outrageous miracle, Edmund was sitting in the grass at their feet, blinking and cradling his left arm against his chest.

"Edmund!"

Flooded with relieved tears, Peter threw himself to his knees beside him, touching his face, his shoulders, his hair. He was alive. He was scraped and bruised and bloodied, but somehow he was alive. Alive.

"Edmund," Peter panted. "How in the world–"

Edmund only looked dazed. "I think I mashed the apple cake."

Peter laughed and cried and wanted to hug him tight, but he didn't dare. Edmund might be more hurt than he looked.

"What happened?" he urged instead.

The pouch containing the remains of the cake was still around Edmund's neck, hanging down his back now, and Peter took it from him. Then he laid him back on the grass so he could look him over.

"How did you get all the way down here, Ed?"

"I– I dunno. I think I hurt my arm."

Peter checked it over swiftly. It was broken.

"I heard your cry, High King," Phillip told Peter. "When I turned, King Edmund was already tumbling down the hillside. I believe his arm broke when he hit that big rock about halfway up."

Peter looked up the hillside. There was a nasty-looking stone, the same kind of stone the Keep was made of, half buried in the black earth. He was glad Edmund had hit it with his arm and not his head. Peter rummaged in the pouch for the little skin of water that was in it. He gave Edmund a drink and then carefully wiped the blood and dirt from his face with a wet handkerchief.

"Where do you hurt, Ed?"

Edmund blinked at him again. "All over, I think. My arm."

"Anyplace really bad?"

Edmund shook his head and then grimaced. "Mostly my arm."

Peter made him wiggle his fingers and toes and twist his body from one side to the other. Then he sat him up again and had him very carefully turn his head and roll his shoulders. Truly, it was a miracle that a broken arm was the worst of Edmund's injuries.

"What happened, Edmund? What do you remember?"

"Not anything really. I was up there, and then I was down here. Aslan must have–"

Peter nodded, cupping Edmund's cheek in his hand. "He must have. There's no other way."

He looked up at the Keep looming over them now, the late afternoon sun setting its stones afire. He wished they'd never come. He wished he'd never led Edmund here to almost die. He wished–

"Peter?" Edmund sagged against him. "Can we go home now?"

"Just a few more minutes, Ed. Let's get you fixed up first."

Peter pulled off his tunic and then his shirt and then put his tunic back on again. He used the shirt to make a sling for Edmund's arm and then helped him to stand up.

"Do you think you can ride?"

"Sure."

Edmund started to walk back up the hill towards where they had left Phillip's saddle and bridle, and then he crashed to one knee. Peter barely managed to keep him from falling flat.

"Maybe I'd better ride with you. Phillip, would that be all right?"

The Horse nodded. "I can carry you both."

"Do you mind if we ride bareback? I don't really want to bother with the saddle right now, and you don't need the extra weight anyway."

"Very well, High King."

Phillip made a worried, snuffling sort of sound when Peter carefully lifted Edmund onto his back.

"Just relax and let me see to everything," Peter told his brother once he had swung up onto the Horse's back behind him.

Edmund grasped Peter's arm with his right hand, uncertain fear in his dark eyes. He wasn't used to riding without a saddle.

"I don't think I can–"

"I won't let you fall," Peter said, and then he glanced back at the Keep once more and swallowed hard. "I won't let you fall again. Phillip, as quick as you can, please, but carefully."

They set off for Cair Paravel, the unicorn following quietly behind them. Before they had gone even a mile, Peter nudged Phillip into a stop.

"He's asleep," Peter told the Horse. "I don't know if that's good or bad."

"I don't know, King Peter. Just as I don't know what you were thinking playing tig atop a wall forty-five feet above the ground."

Peter cringed at the severity of the Horse's tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't think–"

"Exactly. You didn't think. Just what do you think Oreius will say when you bring him home like this? And the Queen Susan? Didn't you come close enough to losing him last year?"

Peter ducked his head, fighting tears and clutching his sleeping brother a little more tightly. Oh, Aslan, what might have happened–

Phillip snorted, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.

It was dark by the time they reached Cair Paravel. Oreius and a few of his soldiers hurried out to meet them, most of them with torches to light the way.

"A Bat came to tell us what happened and that you were on your way back." The Centaur general studied Edmund's face for a moment, his own grim and touched with more than a little reproof. "You'd best get him inside. We will speak of this later."

Peter only nodded, too ashamed and heartsick to say anything or even look him in the face. He rode Phillip up to the castle gates and then dismounted, careful not to wake Edmund, hoping he could get him inside and up to his room before–

"What have you done?" Susan hurried out to him, her full lips pressed into a hard line, her blue eyes crackling with anger as she saw Edmund lying still and battered in his arms. "How bad is it? The Bat said–"

"His arm is broken. He's pretty badly bruised. I don't think there's anything else wrong. I can only think Aslan must have been watching after him. But I'd better get him into his bed. Could you get one of the–"

"The healers are already up there waiting for him." She stroked Edmund's hair and traced her fingers over his bruised cheek. "So's Lucy."

Peter nodded and trudged towards the stairs that led to their quarters. Susan followed after him.

"What in the world were you doing?" Susan demanded. "How did it happen?"

Peter looked down at Edmund's pale face and shook his head. "I don't know. I just–"

"You just weren't watching out for him."

"No, I was just–"

"You were just so determined to explore that stupid Keep, you nearly killed our brother." Tears spilled down Susan's cheeks, and she swiftly wiped them away. "I– I'd better go make sure his bed is ready and see there's a bath drawn for you."

She hurried away, and Peter stood where he was for a moment, holding Edmund against his chest, his own tears brimming.

"We were just playing."

He said it to no one, to everyone, even though it was no more than a whisper. Then he drew a steadying breath and carried Edmund up to his room.

As Susan had said, the healers were already there, waiting for them. Lucy was standing by with her cordial if it was needed, but they shooed her and Peter both out into the corridor while they made their examination. Lucy merely buried herself in Peter's arms.

"It doesn't look as bad as the Bat made it sound," she said with a tremulous smile on her tear-stained little face. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

"I dunno, Lu. I hope so. That tower was so terribly high and–" He bit his lip, waiting until he felt a bit steadier. "It's already a miracle he's alive, so I can't imagine Aslan won't bring him through now."

Her eyes were bright, and she nodded eagerly. "Are you all right, Rabbit?"

He laughed faintly at the old pet name, and then, before he realized it, he was clutching her tightly against himself, his whole body trembling. "Oh, Lu, I'm so sorry. I should have taken better care of him. I shouldn't have let him go up there with me. I shouldn't have–"

"Shh, shh, it's all right." She pulled his head to her shoulder and stroked his hair. "The healers will take care of him, and if they say it's bad, we'll give him some of the cordial. He's going to be fine. You said it yourself. Aslan already saved his life today. He's not going to let Edmund die now."

"But I shouldn't have–"

"And you know what Edmund would tell you? He'd say he loved being there with you and that what happened was just an accident. Not the least bit your fault."

"Your majesties?"

The Dryad called them into Edmund's room. He was lying still and small in the great bed, his arm splinted, the bandages hardly whiter than his pale face, but the healers did not look overly concerned.

"Truly, Aslan has been with you, My King. Other than his broken arm, his injuries are minor. He will recover soon."

Peter thanked them all and dismissed them. Then he sat on the side of the bed, watching his brother sleep. Lucy snuggled up beside him, beaming at him.

"I told you it would be all right," she said.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Edmund.

"He's all right, Peter. Really." Lucy pressed a little closer. "I know. How about you and I take a couple of Gryphons tomorrow and fly out over the sea? You've always liked that. Won't you come, Rabbit? Please."

Peter still looked at Edmund lying there, knowing he'd so nearly been lost. But Peter had just wanted to be a boy for the day. He'd just wanted run and explore and imagine. He'd just wanted to forget, only for one day, that he was the High King, that everyone depended on him, and that they were his responsibility.

He'd just wanted to play.

"No," he told her gravely. "I don't think I care for heights anymore."

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 is writing a wonderful story set in the Golden Age. In it, she makes a passing reference to an incident where Edmund falls from a castle keep. I, of course, wanted a details about that particular incident, and she very graciously allowed me to write my own version. I hope it meets with her approval and yours. Lucy's nickname for Peter is also her creation. And, yes, I realize this was not technically defenestration, but it was near enough and I wanted to use the word.**

–**WD**


	5. Keepsake

**The suggested categories are:**

**a. an emotion**

**b. a color**

**c. an adjective**

**d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)**

**e. a Creature or Animal (****must**** be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).**

**From bigtimecrazy123 I have: anger, blue, dead, fire and Faun. Here's the story I made from them.**

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

KEEPSAKE

"Ow." I rubbed the back of my head. "Cut it out. I mean it."

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, worse than a bored Edmund. I winced as another little chunk of ice collided with my skull. I turned to glare at him, and found him sitting there smiling at me, both hands on his fishing pole, his face the picture of angelic innocence. Before I could even turn all the way back around, I felt the sting of another frozen little missile, this one right above my ear.

"Ed!"

"All right, all right. Can't we go in now?"

"No." I didn't look at him again. "Keep trying."

He answered with only an exasperated little huff and then, predictably, with another chunk of ice.

"One more time," I warned, my voice low and taut. "One more."

"But they're just not biting."

"We promised Mr. and Mrs. Beaver we'd catch some fish. It's the least we can do since they're nice enough to let us visit."

"But Peeeeter," he whined, "it's cold. Can't we just have stew for supper?"

"No. Keep trying."

"But Peeeeter–"

I turned again, scowling as fiercely as I was able, and saw him smirking at me, little devil. He knew how much I hated it when he whined, and he only did it to annoy me. He had changed so much in the four years since the first time we came to the Beavers' house, but he was still utterly and entirely himself. He still delighted in tormenting me.

I looked determinedly into the hole I had cut into the ice, into the dark water that ran beneath it. Part of me wanted to admit defeat. We'd been out here for nearly two hours, neither of us had had so much as a nibble, and I was prepared to swear my backside was frozen solid. Then he hit me right on the crown of the head with another chunk of ice, and I clenched my jaw, determined to stay right where I was until I had caught enough fish to feed the four of us.

_Three, two, one–_

"Ow!"

His latest projectile caught me right in the ear and stung like blue blazes. I tossed down my pole and leapt to my feet. He darted away, scampering across the ice as nimbly as a young Faun, still laughing at me.

"Edmund, get back over here."

"Can't make me."

"Since when?"

I strode towards him and then stopped when I heard the ice beneath my feet creak. Again, he smirked at me.

"Edmund, come on now. It's not funny. The ice is too thin there."

"Too thin for big lummoxes like you, you mean, not for me."

I crossed my arms over my chest. He had me and he knew it. Little devil. Well, he couldn't stay out there forever. I looked him up and down, lips pressed into a hard line, and then I nodded.

"Fine. Enjoy standing there." I stalked back towards our fishing poles. "I'm going in."

"About time." He hurried after me, all smiles now. "Wait. Peeeeter."

Jaw still clenched, I turned to glare at him. My anger twisted into terror as the ice cracked and he disappeared under it.

"Edmund!"

Immediately, he bobbed up again, gasping for breath, arms flailing until he managed to catch the edge of the hole he had fallen through. I wanted to run to him and pull him out, but I knew that would be disaster for us both.

"Hang on, Ed! Hang on!"

I ran back and grabbed my fishing pole and then went back to where I had been standing. I got down on my belly and slid over towards him, extending the pole until he could reach the end of it.

"Come on, Ed. Hold on. Pull yourself out."

Still gasping, he grabbed the pole, and I started pulling him towards me.

"Come on."

"Peter. I can't–"

The pole snapped and once more he disappeared into the dark water.

"Ed!"

I couldn't wait. I tossed the pole aside and shoved myself towards the hole, ice scraping my chest and forearms, creaking ominously below me. I had to get him before he could be swept away and never come up again. _Aslan, please–_

I stuck both arms down into the icy river, thrashing around as he had done, desperate to somehow reach him. Hour-like minutes passed, one after another after another, and I couldn't find him. I couldn't find anything but dark icy water and growing hopelessness. _Aslan!_

Finally, miraculously, Edmund's flailing hands struck mine and I seized them. He pulled me down, pulled my head and shoulders under when another few inches of ice gave way under me, but I held on, pushing with my feet until I was out again, drawing heaving, desperate breaths, knowing he'd been under that water far too long.

Then I hauled him out, my hands numb, my breath coming in loud gasps. He was perfectly silent, perfectly still. His always-pale skin was dead white now. His lips were blue.

I cradled him against me, patting his wet cheek with my wet hand, breathing his name against his dripping hair.

"Wake up, Edmund. Come on now, wake up."

He did not respond.

My gasps were sobs now, the warmth of my tears the only thing I could feel on my frozen cheeks, and I crushed him against me.

"Aslan, please. Please, please, please."

It was all the prayer I could manage. It had to be enough. I had to get him inside while there was still the slightest possibility that he wasn't– I had to get him inside.

I staggered to my feet and started walking, half running, murmuring my feeble prayer over and over again, desperate for any sign of life. There was nothing. His head merely hung limply back. I couldn't see his face, only the underside of his jaw and his throat, so white and bloodless. _Aslan, please._

The journey back to the Beavers' house seemed interminable, though I know it took only a few minutes. Edmund never moved all that time. I had to stop every once in a while to listen to his heart, to press one hand to his lips to feel the barely noticeable seeping of breath from his lungs. _Please, please, please._

"King Peter!"

Eyes wide, Mrs. Beaver shrank back against her little stove when I kicked her front door open and stumbled into the house.

"Over here," Mr. Beaver said, clearing a place before the hearth fire, and Mrs. Beaver was already scurrying around, dragging blankets from their little bunks and making a pallet. I stripped off Edmund's wet clothes as quickly as I could and dried him with the warmed towels Mrs. Beaver gave me. Then I dressed him again in the spare clothes from his pack and rolled him in as many blankets as I could find.

"Save at least one for yourself, dear," Mrs. Beaver urged, patting my cheek, but I shook my head.

"I'm all right. He needs them."

"And you'll do 'im a right bit o' good dead with pneumonia." Mr. Beaver shoved my pack into my hands and jerked his chin towards their little sleeping loft. "Get yourself changed. Me and the missus can see to 'im till you do."

Mrs. Beaver brought a couple of warm towels for me to take up with me. I glanced once more at the still figure before the crackling fire and then scrambled up into the loft. A moment later I was down again, still shivering with cold, hair still wet, not caring. Edmund still hadn't moved.

"Edmund," I pled, patting his face once more. Even now, even with the blankets turning hot on the side nearest the hearth, his skin was still dead white and ice cold. "Edmund?"

I pulled his hand out from under the covers, rubbing it between both of mine and then slapping his wrist, trying to urge the blood into it. Mr. Beaver brought in more wood, and soon the fire was roaring. I was sweating as I knelt there at my brother's side, but he was only still. He was only white and cold.

I looked up at Mrs. Beaver. "Please, are there more blankets? He's not warm yet. Do you have–"

Pity in every furry line of her face, she started to shake her head, and then her expression changed. I was puzzled by the sudden twinkle in her eyes.

"Just you wait, love."

She scampered up into the loft, and I glanced at Mr. Beaver who couldn't have been any less baffled than I was. A moment later she was back again, dragging something with her. I shook my head, startled into a half-choked laugh when I saw what it was.

"You– you still have _that?_ After all this time? I thought it was long gone. With the others."

"It's still nice and warm, dear. You never know when something like this might come in handy, now that we have humans in Narnia again."

She helped me spread it over Edmund and we tucked it under him. After that, I held him close to me, trying to give him what warmth I could, and finally there was a touch of color in his slack face. After a while, after a constant stream of half-coherent prayers, there was a trace of sweat on his upper lip and he started to stir.

"Edmund?"

The inky lashes fluttered and the dark eyes finally focused.

"Ed?" I cupped his cheek in one hand and managed a trembling smile. "Eddie?"

"Peter. You're– you're all right?"

I laughed faintly. "Just fine."

Edmund glanced at the warmth covering him and scowled, eyes bleary. "Where'd you get this? How–?"

"Mrs. Beaver still had it, and I'm glad, too. You needed something to keep you from freezing." My grin was a little lopsided. "Like before."

Edmund plucked at the thick, silvery furs, a touch of a smile now behind his scowl. "But that's a girl's coat."

My eyes filled with tears and I started to laugh. "I know."

Then I buried my face in those blessed furs and cried.

**Author's Note: Anyone who is interested is welcome to leave me a review with a list of words based on the above categories. I can't guarantee I'll write stories for all of the suggestions I get, but I might. :)**

**Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for looking this over for me.  
**

– **WD**


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